Emerald Garden (18 page)

“Oh, Quentin, I …”

“Well, here you are. Knowing the two of you, I should have searched the gardens before even visiting the cottage.”

Over Brandi’s head, Quentin met his brother’s irritated gaze.

“Hello, Desmond. I had no idea you’d be looking for us.”

“Clearly not.” Desmond walked over, laying his hand on Brandi’s shoulder and pivoting her around to face him. “Brandice?” He frowned at her soiled, tear-streaked face. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine—just a bit overwrought.” She dashed the tears from her cheeks, staring dazedly at Desmond as she attempted to right herself and, at the same time, to assess the extent of Desmond’s anger.

“This was-a difficult day for Brandi.” Quentin’s quiet voice penetrated her fog. “I didn’t want her to be by herself.”

Brandi understood Quentin’s message as clearly as if he had spoken it aloud. He was reminding her that, based upon their long-standing friendship, it would appear to Desmond as if he had interrupted merely an act of comfort. Brandi had only to reinforce that assumption.

“I haven’t yet adjusted to the fact that the carriage accident was, in fact, intentional,” she heard herself say. “Quentin has been patiently trying to reconcile me to the monstrous truth.”

Desmond nodded, frowning as he scrutinized her tousled appearance. “What happened to your clothing?” He cast a sidelong look at his brother. “And yours as well?”

Brandi glanced uneasily at Quentin.

“We went riding,” Quentin supplied smoothly. “Brandi’s squirrel was frolicking about, causing us both to take a spill. It looks far worse than it is.”

“I see.” Desmond’s frown didn’t subside, and he looked but the slightest bit mollified. “Well, minor or not, the fall has rendered you both rather the worse for wear. Quentin, your face is bleeding. And Brandice, your gown …” He broke off, indicating by a harsh shake of his head that her disheveled state defied description.

“I was on the verge of treating Quentin’s scrapes,” she inserted swiftly. “After which, I fully intended to change my gown.”

“ ’Tis a bit late in the day to go careening through the woods on horseback, is it not?” Desmond inquired with unconcealed disapproval. “The sun has already set.”

“It was quite visible when we commenced,” Brandi countered, feeling that all-too-familiar resentment kindle inside her. “Moreover, I didn’t notice the time. I was too eager to take my mind off the unbearable reality that someone killed our parents.”

Desmond’s demeanor softened slightly. “Still, little one, you shouldn’t be galloping about in the dark. You could get hurt. I’d prefer you limit your riding to those hours when the sun is high.”

Brandi was on the verge of retorting when she felt Quentin’s gentle nudge from behind.

Squeezing her lips tightly shut, she maintained her silence.

“Desmond, Bentley mentioned you weren’t feeling well last night,” Quentin interceded, both to change the subject and to determine if his brother were suffering from the aftermath of his drinking bout. “Are you better today?”

“Significantly better, thank you.” Desmond stiffened, his expression guarded. “I feel very much myself.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” After careful assessment, Quentin concluded that not only was Desmond suffering no ill effects from the previous day, he was also, for the moment, quite sober. His speech was unslurred, his black eyes alert and clear. More than clear, Quentin mused. Positively glittering. In fact, for a man who’d just last night been drowning his anguish in liquor, Desmond appeared surprisingly lighthearted.

“Did you spend the day abed?” Quentin probed.

“No. I spent the day in London.” Desmond paused. “With Hendrick.”

“Hendrick?” Brandi leaped on the name, stepping forward to grip Desmond’s forearms. “Has he pored through Papa’s file? Did he find anything that could help us ferret out the murderer?”

Desmond’s head snapped up and, over Brandi’s head, his eyes narrowed questioningly on Quentin.

“I recounted the details of my meeting to Brandi,” Quentin replied.

“How accommodating of you.” Desmond’s tone emanated pointed sarcasm.

“I presume Hendrick filled you in as well?”

“He did. But it would have been nice to have heard the specifics from my brother. Tell me, Quentin, did it occur to you to afford me the same consideration you did Brandice?”

Quentin made an exasperated sound. “Desmond, you were abed when I returned home last night and when I took my leave this morning. Had you been up and about, I assure you I would have discussed the situation with you first. Besides, what difference does it make who I spoke with first? We all need to know the status of the investigation. Now tell me, did Hendrick finish perusing Ardsley’s file? Is that why he sent for you?”

“He did and it was.”

“And?”

“And—nothing. Ardsley’s papers are as devoid of clues as Father’s were.” Desmond folded his arms across his chest. “It appears this avenue has reached its end.”

“Damn it.” Quentin raked baffled fingers through his hair. “I truly hoped …”

“Hoped what? That Father’s murderer had left explicit evidence of his crime in glaring view of our family solicitor? Honestly, Quentin, doesn’t that seem somewhat unlikely? Further, with all due respect to your brilliant mind, I would hardly describe you as a qualified investigator. Why not leave the matter to the authorities?”

A spark of anger ignited Quentin’s eyes. “Because my mother and father died in that carriage. And if I can do anything to hasten the exposure of their murderer, I intend to—with or without your support.”

A whip-taut silence ensued.

“Quentin.” This time it was Brandi who interceded, physically inserting herself between the brothers. “That cut on your jaw is bleeding badly. Let’s go inside so I can treat it.” She turned to Desmond. “I’ll ask Mrs. Collins to make some tea. After I’ve tended to Quentin’s bruises, I’ll change my gown and we can discuss our next course of action.”

“Our
next course of action?” Desmond positively bristled, his lips thinning into a line of stunned censure. “Brandice, you’re a delicate young woman. You have no place in resolving this ugly and dangerous matter. Quentin and I will address the issue later, back at Colverton.”

Brandi sucked in her breath, reminded, yet again, that she and Desmond were worlds apart. To even attempt to span the unbridgeable gap between them would be utterly futile. “I don’t want to argue,” she demurred quietly. “We’ve already endured enough hardship. Let’s not worsen it by bickering.” Gathering up her soiled skirts, she headed toward the cottage.

With a flicker of pride, Quentin watched her retreating back. Then he gestured to his brother. “Come. Let’s get Brandi settled before we head back to Colverton.”

“Agreed.”

The two men entered the cottage just as Brandi finished speaking with Mrs. Collins. The buxom housekeeper dropped a quick curtsy. “Your Grace. Lord Quentin.” She frowned as she saw the blood on Quentin’s face. “Are you badly hurt, my lord?”

“Only my pride, Mrs. Collins.”

A motherly smile. “Your refreshments will be served directly. In the meantime, I’ll fetch a basin of water and a clean cloth so Miss Brandi can tend to your wounds.”

Quentin grinned at the housekeeper’s choice of words. “There’s no hurry, Mrs. Collins. My ‘wounds’ can hardly be described as such. They’re mere cuts and scrapes.”

“Nevertheless, they must be treated. I’ll bring the necessary items to the sitting room.” With a no-nonsense expression, she swept off.

“I could grow spoiled from such tender ministrations,” Quentin teased Brandi a few minutes later, turning his face so she could apply the compress to his jaw. “First Mrs. Collins and now you.” He settled himself comfortably on the plush Chippendale settee, watching Brandi from beneath hooded lids as she worked her magic.

Across the room, the sideboard banged open, and Quentin winced, recognizing the angry clinking of glassware as a sure indicator that Desmond was on the verge of another drinking bout. The question was, what had incited it? Was it the frustration and grief dredged up during his meeting with Hendrick, or was it simply fury at discovering Brandi in her current disheveled state?

Oblivious to both Quentin’s reflections and Desmond’s display of irritation, Brandi knelt on the Persian rug, brow furrowed in concentration. Gently, she washed the bloodstains from Quentin’s face, frowning as she reached the most severe of his gashes. “A sharp branch must have slashed across your jaw to cause so deep a tear,” she murmured, dabbing at the surrounding area. She paused, withdrawing the cloth just long enough to rinse it in the basin Mrs. Collins had supplied. “This will undoubtedly sting,” she warned. “I’m sorry, Quentin. I’ll be as brief as I can. Just try to endure it.”

“I’ll try.”

“No matter how much it smarts, you must remain still if I’m to properly cleanse the injury.”

Quentin had to bite back his smile. She sounded so bloody earnest and so worried about causing him pain. “I understand,” he replied solemnly. “And I’ll do my best not to move.”

Brandi nodded, frowning anxiously. “Now, tell me if I hurt you.” She leaned forward, the compress hovering over the ugly laceration.

“I’ll call out—if I’m able.” Quentin’s lips twitched. “But what concerns me is, what if I should swoon before managing to gasp out my agony?”

Her patient’s amusement finally registered, and Brandi sat back on her heels, lips pursed, as she met Quentin’s playful gaze. “Are you mocking me, Captain Steel?”

“Never.” He grinned. “I’m just unused to such compassionate treatment—and for so undeserving a wound.”

Abruptly, Brandi realized how ludicrous Quentin must find her doting after the horrors he’d witnessed at war. “How dimwitted of me. You’re right—’tis only a cut. I’m being foolish.”

“No, Sunbeam, you’re being you.” He covered her hand with his and urged the cloth to his face. “Pray continue. I could grow accustomed to so delicate a touch.”

Amusement curved Brandi’s lips. “Does that mean I surpass the army in my healing skills?”

“Indeed. You are by far the most proficient and compassionate of physicians, not to mention the loveliest.” He tugged a lock of her hair. “But I do think you can stop worrying. I promise to survive the ordeal.”

“Without swooning, Captain?”

“Or thrashing about,” he assured her.

“Pity.” Brandi’s eyes glinted with humor. “Now I’ll have to amend the delicious tidbit of gossip I intended to submit to the
Morning Post.
And I so looked forward to seeing it posted in the dailies. Envision this …” She made a grand sweep with her arm. “‘Lord Quentin Steel, hero of the Napoleonic Wars, was overtaken by a ferocious red squirrel and sustained minor injuries which, when treated, reduced the Duke of Wellington’s most prominent officer to a dead faint.’ That would have done wonders for your reputation. Ah, well. The initial part will have to suffice.”

A hearty chuckle vibrated in Quentin’s chest. “That razor-sharp tongue of yours has become even more barbed, if that’s possible, little hoyden.”

“Only with you, my lord,” she returned, her expression rife with mischief. “No one challenges me quite as you do. How unfortunate that you have yet to outwit me.”

“One day I’m going to call your bluff, Sunbeam. Then we’ll see who outwits whom.”

“I await that day with bated breath, Captain Steel.” Brandi resumed her task, cleaning the dirt from his wound. “In the interim, however, stay still. And try not to swoon. Else I shall gleefully submit my original story—in its entirety—to the newspaper, thus dashing any hopes you might have of preserving even a shred of your soon-to-be-ravaged dignity.”

Their eyes met and together they dissolved into spontaneous laughter.

“I’m delighted you’re both enjoying yourselves so heartily,” Desmond snapped, slamming down his goblet.

Simultaneously, Brandi and Quentin started, having totally forgotten Desmond’s presence.

“I think your levity is somewhat misplaced,” he continued, refilling his glass. “Brandice, I suggest you cease fussing over Quentin’s insignificant injuries and change your gown before our refreshments arrive. After which, Quentin and I will take our leave so you can retire for the night and regain your strength.”

Holding Brandi’s gaze, Quentin gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

“All right.” She rose, making her way across the room. “I won’t be a minute.”

The door closed behind her.

With a dark look at Quentin, Desmond tossed off his second brandy, then replenished it.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Quentin asked pointedly.

“No. I don’t.” Desmond downed half the contents before swerving to face his brother. “I was under the impression we’d discussed your relationship with Brandice and had arrived at an understanding. Do you recall?”

“I do.” Quentin folded his arms behind his head, assessing Desmond warily. “I also recall informing you that I had no intention of terminating my friendship with Brandi.”

“Friendship? Is that what that little exchange was an example of?”

“What would you call it?”

“A prelude.”

Quentin’s eyes narrowed. “A prelude? To what?”

“Oh, come now, Quentin.” Desmond took two deep swallows of brandy, weaving briefly as he slurred out the words. “You had y’r first woman when you were fourteen. There have been Lord knows how many since then. Surely, by now you’ve mastered the art of discerning the overt signs of attraction?” He held up his hand, counting off on his fingers. “Let’s see, flushed cheeks, radiant smile, adoring eyes—all indications of desire, not companionship. Wouldn’t y’agree?”

Quentin had to fight to keep from striking his brother. “If you’re implying I’m trying to seduce Brandi, you’ve lost your mind.”

“You don’t have t’
try,
brother.” With a hollow laugh, Desmond drained his goblet. “In Brandice’s eyes, the sun rises and sets on you. As I think about it, she probably fancies herself in love with you. After all, you were her childhood idol. The man who taught her to behave like an undisciplined boy, rather than a lady. The man who encouraged her recklessness, refined her outrageous pursuits, then plunged in and shared them all with her. And then went away, thus immortalizing himself in her mind.” Desmond bowed deeply, mockingly. “Now you’ve returned—the conquering hero—resurrecting all her childhood adoration, melding her worshipful feelings with her newly awakening womanhood.” A sneer. “How very convenient for you.”